your heart is a city
by lydiamartins
Summary: She sits numbly in the bed for hours after and stabs the pin with her teeth. Massie watches the heart - her heart - break. / massiederrick, for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level four, part one!


******notes |** okay, i wanted to write something sort of long and angsty and weird so here it is, (: hope you guys like it!

**your heart is a city**  
massiederrick

_._

It's only in the middle of March that they approach each other once more - it's a cold day in the city of Westchester, gloomy clouds looming down upon the nearly deserted courtyard like a premonition. Massie takes a deep breath and tries to forget every single word that he had said to her, tries to forget every single look of disgust that he had given her since the incident, everything that had forced her to break down because she can't deal with somebody who makes her feel slimy, as if something's constantly wrong with her.

And, in a way, sometimes it's not even Derrick's fault - but he just makes her feel wrong.

Of course, there are those magic moments, but Massie's not a child anymore, and she can't rely on magic moments to fix her life anymore. So, she smooths down her hair like she had done so many times in middle school, and walks into the courtyard; Massie feels alone without her minions standing behind her, and then she remembers that it's her fault for not having anybody by her side. She never really deserved the friendship of the pretty committee - what a childish term, she thinks - in the first place; in a way, they were too good for her.

There was Alicia, who was that one friend who had always been loyal from the very beginning, and had stuck by Massie throughout fifth grade, through her darkest moments, had always been there; and then there was Dylan who always had had problems with her image even though she was beautiful and skinny and didn't have thunder thighs, and Massie practically ignored her half the time. There was Kristen - Kristen who was dedicated on making a future for herself that sometimes she couldn't go to Friday Night sleepovers, and Massie was too immature to understand that there was more to life than cliques and boys; and then there was Claire.

Claire who had been more like a sister to Massie than to anybody else - the girl who Massie had insisted upon bullying and mistreating for the first two years of middle school, made her feel like she was an outcast, and left her to the friendship of random individuals when she should have seen the potential that Claire could one day have. She wasn't good enough for them - Massie wasn't good enough for Derrick, for anybody else; not then, not now.

Perhaps, she hasn't really grown up, not at all, but Massie likes to think that she's changed since Octavian Country Day; maybe she has, maybe she hasn't, but Massie still feels a little faint as she approaches Derrick, who's perched upon the steps - the steps, the place where the pretty committee had once ate lunch - a confused expression stretching across his face, immediately turning into a blank expression upon sign of Massie. "What are you doing here?" It's a simple enough statement, but in a way, Massie doesn't quite know the answer.

"Something's wrong - everybody thinks that we need to sort out our problems; Sammi called me," Massie sighs - reluctant to say the next few words. "She told me about what happened at the Ostroff Center, and how you've been, living with it." Derrick's face pales, as if he's trying to forget everything that she had said, and Massie knows that she's touched a nerve, maybe gone a little too far.

Derrick turns cold once more, before replying. "Sammi had no right to tell you anything about my life - how do you even know her? Stop trying to invade my life, Block. I made that mistake once, a long time ago, but I've grown from that - I'm not going to ever make that same mistake again. So, just leave me alone. Okay?"

So, Massie turns around - because, in a way, she's too tired to fight with him anymore, and maybe it'll be for the best - and leaves the courtyard. Minutes later, Derrick's still standing in the same spot, feeling numb and slightly faint, as if he's made a mistake, but tries to ignore the feeling; after all, life without her was easier, and that was the honest truth of the matter.

.

Sometimes, Massie thinks back to the golden years - years that were full of innocence and happiness.

There were fights, and there were parties, and there were boys that all five girls had shared common likings towards - there were moments when one of them would regain power over the other, and it would feel more like a social hierarchy than a friendship, but it was all worth it in the end. The five of them used to be more than friends, almost like a family for one another - some of them didn't have all of their parents, left, and maybe, just maybe, their friends made up for the fact, and everything was worth it.

Massie remembers moments near the end of eighth grade - when it would just be her and Derrick, up in his room, just getting lost in each other's eyes, and then losing focus and getting distracted by anything, anything at all, because everything between them was too complicated to be summed up into a few words, and perhaps they didn't want the simplicity in life. Simplicity meant life between them becoming boring, if there was even anything between them, but sometimes, when Massie got lost in his eyes, they were able to escape the beautiful world around them - just for a while.

She remembers how everything was much simpler back then - she could stare into his eyes, read him like an open book, and there would be no secrets that the other didn't know of one another; she stands in the middle of her room now, lying on her bed as she stares at the hundreds of pictures of the two of them in her bedroom - they were supposed to be together, forever.

Nothing last forever, Massie reminds herself, as she wipes a tear from her eye and tears down the pictures, one by one, until they're lying on the floor in a massive pile, and she sets them on fire. The smoke mars the photographs, and Massie watches from afar, staring at the presents and the looks that he gave her, the kisses that they had exchanged until there's nothing left but ash and smoke, a remainder of what used to be.

.

Life doesn't make sense.

In a way, it never has; but it wasn't that way back in the mind of a five year old, brunette curls tied up in pigtails, her cheeks rosy red; back in those days of innocence and naivete. She sits upon her bed, feeling anything but fine, and looks at her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head slowly to examine every single flaw. And if she can't find one?

Well, she'll have to just look a little harder, or make one — usually, it's the latter. Sometimes, Massie wonders how she's slipped so far, like Alice down a hole, but everything's going to get better, but it's not; everything's only going to get worse from here. And, it's all Westchester's fault, and the fault of three other girls and a new girl who had been determined on making your life a living hell. Well, it turns out that they succeeded.

Massie takes a deep breath, and closes her computer screen — because everybody hates her, and glossy eyes skim across a room, tracing hearts upon her milky white skin, pressing harder upon the thin green nerves on the back. Sometimes, she pinches her skin - and it's not because something's wrong with her; Massie's not a good person, and she needs to remind herself that, from time to time. There are still small scar marks and burns, after all of these years. Her fingernails, plastered to cotton candy bedsheets are flawless, a recent manicure of course done by a friend that once was true; candy bracelets trail up and down her arm, resting at the bottom of her ankles, grass stains on the backs of her white Loubotins, once everything that she had ever dreamed of.

That's what it is — the American Dream, tracing itself back to the 1920's, to the very beginnings of time, to the edges of the universe; she turns on the television, and absorbs herself in mindless dramatics, just trying to forget. But she can't. Massie doesn't want to forget; because those were the golden days, they were once the days where she traveled among the stars. Everything was so beautiful. And, she traveled with the best of the lot, flying away in the universe and leaving all of her troubles behind her, but then somebody died, and she had to go back because she isn't going to live forever. Not anymore.

It all starts at the beginning of KISS - she was meant to be back in Westchester, but fate had always hated her.

Years later, she likes to think that she's moved on - to a much better option, of course; by the name of James, but it was not always that way, that fairytale kiss in the rain that she had imagined so many years ago, nothing of the sort.

Massie Block, no matter what age she is, always does relationship upgrades; it starts off with the sun shining down. It's a gloriously fine morning - the type in Audrey Hepburn classics where everything can go right - and the sun is beating down with a stifling heat, the darkened pavement chars her bare feet, as she slips off her sandals and walks a few steps barefoot before Kendra reprimands her.

Everything seemed different, more proper and classy that it did back in Westchester - the next day at KISS, there were well-dressed girls who didn't expose skin from the nape of their neck to their stocking clad feet who looked down at Massie disdainfully, other girls holding umbrellas over their heads to protect their well-groomed skin from the dangers of excessive tanning; there were other girls who donned scarlet shawls and white gowns, the colors growing exceedingly gaudy, who everybody slightly lowered their level to.

Massie assumed as though individuals who wore the most amount of clothing in the balmy summer heat were the most popular at her - it was a twisted mindset, to say the last; of course, she stood out with her pleated skirt, skimming past mid-thigh level, and a floral pattern top, a goodbye gift from Westchester.

Fingers fly over keyboards, stomach fattening from chocolate chip cookies and gummy bears, catching up to her thighs by now; and her elbows run high, skin so fragile, so easily broken, and blood easily flows upon contact with a landline. It flows into the water, evaporating almost as quickly as it is formed, and everything is absorbed and Massie keeps on pushing forwards. Her hair, limp and wet, leaves marks upon a red sweater, itchy and wool.

Remarks are made about Ugly Sweater Day not being today, and in a way, Massie just wishes she could turn everything; perhaps going to the very beginnings of all these dramatics, and maybe it would have been better to stay in Westchester - maybe it would have better not take this unnecessary challenge, which seemed to be doing more harm than good, anyways. Walking up a flight of staircase, and not so effortlessly dodging an oncoming group of seniors running from their lockers to the freedom of fresh air, she trips; instead of people helping her, they just walk away, some trampling on her stuff, and she loses everything, in a way, down that very staircase, and when she looks up, everything's gone; taken.

Everything good in life must come to an end, after all.

Up the staircase she goes; the bell rings in a far distance, and Massie tries not to grimace at the alarming rate of crowds, and walks quickly; memory strikes her as she remembers tripping up staircases, falling and hitting her head, a pool of blood spilling but nobody cares, do they, darling?; trying to keep a steady beat and a small smile on her face. Nevertheless, she's never been that good at hiding her inner emotions.

But, she's mastered the art, being in London, for perhaps a year now, but Massie knows that she's not going to try to become the alpha - it's not the right time, not the right place, after all. Then again, there's no room for reality, unless she could become suddenly absolutely gorgeous and have a real personality and opinion, and be naturally charismatic. But, no. She's Massie Block, and there's only room for one alpha on the KISS, and she needs to remind herself of that, or they're going to remind her; she makes her way to the room, and sits down, fatigue and a sharp jolt of pain riding up the sides of her legs.

.

Something's different this time; it might be the fact that she's never had a real, mature relationship (she forgets about Derrick and Cam and Landon and middle school crushes) before, but right now, standing in the deserted hallway of some cracker factory, Massie knows that this is wrong. Gregory's smoking another pack of cigarettes, throwing an ashtray onto the floor, washing it skid, laughing a little; Massie couldn't help the rude thoughts forming in her mind. This game, she knew, wasn't going to end very well; she's an ice maiden, and well, he's just this loser freak who sits on the sidelines with the rest of the druggies, but she had to do it. It was a Dare. And Massie Block never backed down from one of those, no matter how horrible it was. Oh, the things that she did for a reputation that wasn't going to even make any difference to her horrible life.

But, it's not love - it's a dare, and everybody knows it; Massie smooths down her hair, like she does so many times, and wishes that she could fall through the ceiling tiles, into the cold expanse of space, which would be more welcoming than KISS.

She examines her face in the reflection of her phone, a stolen gift, and thinks about the life that passes her by; and she's not good enough. In a way, people have been telling her all sorts of things; that all of her so called allies aren't friends with her anymore because she's too nice of a person, because she's too obsessive about her grades, just because she's Massie Block, that horrible girl that nobody really likes, not even one. People start filing through the doors, slowly and surely, and Massie stares down at the way that these pants, which used to be baggy, fit tightly around her legs; even her own mother called her fat the day previously.

Massie vows to never eat again - she'll do whatever it takes to be perfect.

.

The promise is broken the very next day; of course, promises are made to be broken.

She's sitting in front of a screen, mindless sounds zooming through her ears, the promises of homework, piles of papers surrounding her, stacks of assignments hastily filled in, because they only remind her that she's on a spiral, and Massie doesn't want to know the truth; she just wants to escape reality, to be a princess for just one night, to escape all of the dramatics, and she remembers an invitation in the bottom of a dresser.

Massie ends up spending the next three hours, throwing all of her clothes — from the time that she was four, but nothing belongs for a thirteen year old, nothing in this closet anymore; vials of assorted liquids fill the top of her dresser, and she quickly hides dolls, ducks, maps of places that she's been to, and of course, that picture of her in her old life, but that's not her anymore. She's not happy, anymore; and perhaps, she'll never be happy anymore. London has killed Massie Block, perhaps, without even knowing it.

(But, darling, you know that you'll never be good enough, right? You're just going to drive yourself to the piece of insanity in the drive.)

She ends up pulling out the old sewing machine; dust still collects, and the hours pile on, and she thinks that she's dead, but there's suddenly a ladder outside of her door, and her parents have become assimilated with London, part of the mainstream island, and they wouldn't care. Nevertheless, Massie climbs out, and tears one side of her dress, creating a narrow slit, on brambles of a bush.

There's a train, and Massie climbs aboard; but she can't help but think what would happen if she ran away for real; for real, and never came back to her home. Maybe if it was two years ago, she would still think that her parents would care about it, but now? She could run away, forever and forever, and nobody would care. Sometimes on that train, she thinks that she could run away, she should. But, she can't. Because deep down, there's innocent little Massie who still believes that somebody would miss her; but, darling, by the time you're in high school, innocence becomes stupidity.

She walks off roads, and into trains; and there's a small pill in her hands, a piece of colored paper on her tongue, bitter and harsh, but then she sees all of the little lights, and becomes a bird, and it's all going to be okay.

Once she becomes a bird, in the blur of lace, satin, and tuxedos, that reminds her all of more of a wedding, that this life isn't all that bad. Sweeping across the floor, mixing golds with silvers, savoury majorelle blues with alizarin crimson reds —she is standing at the top of the staircase, her lips pursed together as she stumbles down onto the ground, obviously intoxicated with some sort of drink; tinkles of delicate laughter light up the room. She is a princess, a primadonna girl, in her own right, if we could all forget. Night comes, and perhaps this is her time to shine. She spins endlessly around the room, her dress flapping in the wind, a chill coming in from an open door, her blonde ringlets falling out of her crown as she takes no time to pause, obviously, the most energetic individual in the room.

(And, like it's a cycle, they party all night, dance upon the edge of the social hierarchy tabletops, cleanse ourselves, rinse, and repeat.)

She can't help but smile, and there's nothing wrong in this beautiful world. Massie climbs up the staircases, and the blood starts flowing, and suddenly she's a bird, and Massie's going to fly. Somebody watches from a distance; a little brunette girl, high on drugs, perhaps, is standing at the edge, and she's going to jump, isn't she?

And, now, she's lying on the pavement, glossy eyes finding a pool of blood next to her glossy ringlets of hair, darkened from dye and stains, tangled into a hideous mess. Her fingers lightly skim over the blood, dipping a piece of lined paper, filled with words that were soon torn apart; but she's happy.

She's really happy.

.

The next time that Massie wakes up, she screams - because this wasn't meant to happen.

Her parents are standing above her, and there's no sweet porcelain, and there's no pool of blood around her ringlets of hair, and they look concerned in a way, as if they almost care for her - but Massie knows the pretense behind their actions. There isn't any possible way that Kendra and William could ever care about her - they were probably only here to remind their daughter that she had to stop committing suicide attempts in order to keep the reputation of the Block's up, so that William wouldn't lose his newfound job, here.

In a way, Massie wished that her father would lose their job - Westchester, no matter how poor she had been, was a thousand times better than a place where nothing that she tried mattered; she didn't have any friends (her family), she didn't have anybody who cared about her, yet her parents still expected her to be the best, nothing but perfect.

Massie doesn't say anything to them - her parents don't say anything to her; the three of them sit down, sharing the beauty of silence. She stares at her reflection in a broken mirror of her cellphone, shattered to pieces, and notices her bloodshot eyes, her haggard posture; her face doesn't look as distinct as it usually does in mornings, and she instinctively reaches for makeup and happy pills before realizing her location, and remembering that her parents won't let her do this anymore - or at least, for a while.

She wonders if she can trick them - trick them into thinking that she's okay.

Wondering how long it would take to convince her parents that she was fine, that she didn't need to be kept in a hospital, or wherever she was, and Massie takes a deep breath, hoping that this wouldn't last for. It couldn't. The costs of a facility such as this one, which she could tell was top quality based off of the stained glass windows and the Picasso paintings on the walls (memories of Octavian Country Day come rushing back) and the Glaceau water next to her, she can tell that it costs a decent amount of money.

If it costs this much money, then her parents can't pay for treatment here forever - maybe the maximum length that Massie would be forced to reside here would be a couple of weeks, and maybe her parents would tell the school that she was going to visit her grandparents in Costa Rica or in the Dominican Republic or in France or in Monaco, but anything to protect their perfect reputation - they'd do anything.

And, Massie was planning to use that against them; at least until her mother spoke up, "Darling, don't be mad with me," Kendra began, in a tone that was already slightly regretful, and Massie wondered what had made her mother sound that way - in all sixteen years of her life, she had never heard her perfect mother sound like she had made a mistake.

At least that was until Derrick Harrington walked through the door and Massie wanted to stab her mother in the stomach. Repeatedly.

Kendra and William leave the room a few minutes later, and Massie sits farther up in her hospital bed, pulling up the thin hospital sheets up to her fat frame, but they don't conceal her face, which constantly betrays her mind. "I thought that we were staying away from each other, Harrington," she begins, trying to sound more confident than she is; Massie always felt weak, almost faint, around him. "It's for the better for both of us, and I'm not sure if my parents called your or something, but you need to leave."

Derrick only sits down on a chair, with an infuriating smirk, before he realizes the situation, and becomes blank once more; she used to hate his poker face - that's when the secrets started, and nothing was ever the same again. "Kendra called me - she told me what had been happening to you, ever since you moved to London. She didn't know that it would come to _thi__s.__"_

It's easy enough for Massie to come up with a snappy response to shut him up. "Just like how I had no right to ask you what happened when you were in the Ostroff Center, when Sammi called me, it means that you didn't have a single right to come here just because my stupid mother called you - so, seriously, can you just please leave now?" She almost begs the last few words, and wishes that she didn't slip the weakness inside her voice; out of all times, she needed to sound the most confident, now when she was the least confident.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm with someone now, so I can't deal with you anymore," he fingers a gold pin, in the shape of a heart - when she was younger, and believed in love, Massie had sewn the pin on Derrick's sleeve, so that he would always have her heart - and hands it back to her. "Goodbye, Massie."

She sits numbly in the bed for hours after and stabs the pin with her teeth. Massie watches the heart - her heart - break.

.

Sometimes, Massie wonders what the point of this facility is;

A therapist comes in every now and then, remarking that her patient has made no improvement, and is not ready to leave the facility ( perhaps another way for them to get more money ), and then the doctor measures her blood pressure and forces her to record her weight, remarking that she's gradually gaining weight - in a good sense of the word, but then again, Dr. Bonchoven doesn't know anything about her.

He doesn't know that gaining any weight - whether it's good gaining, or bad gaining, she honestly doesn't even care anymore - isn't good at all. Not one bit. So, as soon as the doctor leaves, Massie excuses herself to the bathroom and lets herself be ruled over by the sweet porcelain.

Nobody knows about Massie's dirty little secret - her remedy - and that's just the way she likes it.

One day, there's a knock at her door; Massie numbly presses a light white button, admitting the visitor in, and continues typing aimlessly on her computer; her red nails are chipped, and she stares at her haunted reflection of the computer - her eyes are bloodshot red, from days spent staying up late, and her face is bloating and she realizes that sweet porcelain isn't her friend anymore. Hair is growing on her arm, and Massie wonders why they still won't let her out of the facility, and her mother won't let her go out, not even for a day.

Of course, Massie knows that there's some sort of negative reason behind it - if anybody saw Massie exiting from the facility, paparazzi would have taken pictures, and she would have ended up on Page Six; she walks towards the bathroom, ignoring the visitor who had only opened the door halfway, and notices a text message from one of her so called friends, and it hurts.

It's not that much - she's had pain before, but suddenly, Massie's sticking two fingers down her throat, and it feels so good that she doesn't want to stop - she never wants to stop. Sweet porcelain is her only friend left, and she's determined to stay true to her last friend, until the very end of her existence, which she hopes won't be too far away. "What the hell are you doing?"

Derrick's voice - the voice of the devil, indeed - is all too familiar, yet Massie's never felt more ashamed in her life, but she can't stop, not now, when everything seems to be paying off. She's finally managed to almost trick her parents into believing that everything's fine once more, and it can't end like this, it just can't; so, she slams the door in his face, and continues.

The door opens again, and Massie stops, just for a moment, begging, "Derrick just leave - I don't need you here. I'm in control of everything; I'm just sick, this isn't a relapse, can you just LEAVE NOW!"

He doesn't leave, and Massie suddenly imagines thirty seven different ways to kill him and then stops, because he's wiping away the puke and blood from her mouth, and spraying the bathroom with air freshener as if he cares - as if he could still care after everything that happened between them. "I'll take care of this," Derrick speaks gently, as if she's fragile, a breakable doll, "And how about you just go lie down?"

She's too weak to refuse, and falls into her bed, staring at the window outside - the sky's still blue, and everything will be okay.

.

**notes |** okay that ending sucked argh that was horrible; i can't think straight - i watched catching fire yesterday night and um i can't even -

this is for **coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge**, level four, part one! prompt; write a story about your favorite song, and i chose the song "sky's still blue" by andrew belle.


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